


i accidentally need you, oops i love you

by charjace



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bev & Patty Are Married, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Stanley Uris, Eddie Bev Patty & Stan Friendship, M/M, Talk About Suicide Attempts, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22831834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charjace/pseuds/charjace
Summary: 'now I accidentally know that you're in love with me, too. oops, baby, I love you'
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	i accidentally need you, oops i love you

**Author's Note:**

> not proof read at all
> 
> stan and eddie share a home bc why not
> 
> based on little mix's oops

The bar he found himself in that night wasn’t one of his usual ones that he goes to, but he felt like going somewhere new. He felt like pushing his boundaries, pushing himself outside of his comfort zone – he was also feeling like he didn’t care, and maybe he should, but right now he doesn’t as he downs another drink. His phone goes off, and he checks it but doesn’t reply but just orders another drink for himself. His friends might call this drowning his sorrows, but he doesn’t do it often so he won’t call it a problem they always work it out in the end. The music and everyone’s chatter was fading away from his ears as he downed what he believes is his fifth drink for the night.

He’d finish his drink when someone had come up to him, “What’s up with you?” The stranger questions, placing his own drink down next to his empty glass. Turning his head, he notices the glasses and bright smile.

“Not much,” He replies, looking down into his empty cup, “Just... trying feel something, I guess.”

The other leans in, close to his ear before saying, “I know another way that can make you feel something, that could be a little more fun.”

“Who said I was into men?” He muses raising an eyebrow slightly, watching the other let out a small laugh.

“I never said I was offering myself, but... if you want too, my place isn’t too far from here,” The stranger replies, finishing off of his drink and hitching his thumb back towards the door.

With a smile, he take the other up on the offer and follows him out the door,  _ usually _ he would text Bev, or Eddie or Patty before he walks home with a stranger; not that he does this often, or actually at all. It’s just what he feels like he  _ should _ do, just to let them know just in case things went south – but he doesn’t.

All logic and thinking going out the window as he presses himself against the stranger once they’ve entered the other’s apartment. Hands wondering all over new places, lips finding new homes and new beautiful sounds filling the room.

Waking up, there is a pounding in his head and his phone is going off, yelling at him to pick it up and finds it on the strange bedside table, last night’s events falling into his mind causing him to let out a small groan. Answering his phone, he is greeted by a bombardment of questions that were going a mile a minute. Pulling his phone away, he takes a deep breath before putting it back.

“...we were so worried. What is going on? This i-”

“Eddie,” He cuts off the other, putting a hand up to his head, trying to massage his head as if that would help the pounding that was going on inside there. He feels the bed move, and looks over to see the stranger climbing out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers before exiting the room, feet dragging across the floor as he did.

“Earth to fucking Stan! Are you still there?” Eddie’s voice calls him back to the phone call.

“Yeah, I’m still here Eddie. I’m fine, all organs and limbs in place,” Stan replies, removing himself from the bed, scanning the room for his clothes. Picking up the items as he finds them to start putting them on. “I’ll be home before the show okay.”

“Cool, would prefer you home soon though, we -”

“I know what you all are thinking, but I’m  _ fine _ Eddie, I promise you,” Stan cuts off Eddie as he pulls on his pants, taking note of the stranger at the door, holding a glass of water and aspirin. Stan gave him a small smile, “I might visit Bev before I get home.”

“Okay, stay safe. See you later Stan,” Eddie says, and Stan hangs up not saying a goodbye himself as he pockets his phone so that he could take the drink and medication offered by the stranger.

“Thanks,” Stan says as he downs the pills with the drink. “I um... never do these, should I just, leave?”

“If you want,” The stranger replies, before walking over to his phone that was laying on the floor, because unlike Stan, the stranger didn’t seem to care that his phone got tossed around. “Or, you could put your number in here and this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

Stan raises an eyebrow as the stranger offers up his phone so that Stan could put in his details – and Stan takes the phone before handing it back. His phone goes off as the stranger must have sent him a message so he now had the stranger's number.

“Stan? Is that it, or is it short for something like Staniel?” The stranger muses, looking down at his phone before looking back at Stan, a small smile on his face.

A light laugh left Stan’s lips, “Who are you, Richie Tozier?” Stan questions with a smile upon his lips, that stupid line reminded him of an old friend he had before his family moved him out here, who would use ridiculous names and nicknames, as well as voices. They lost contact because it seemed like Richie had stopped sending letters, so Stan himself gave up sending his out. They were six back then.

“That is my name,” The stranger replies, causing Stan to freeze in his spot, staring at the other.

“No,” Stan says, eyes wide and he clamps his hand over his mouth. Eyes looking the stranger,  _ Richie _ , up and down. The painkillers must be working because his head is taking in everything in front of him and he can see it. Past memories from his childhood and from the few images he  _ has _ seen of Richie falling into place in his mind. “Oh my fucking  _ god _ ! I mean... just my luck, of course. Fuck!”

“Does who I am change what happened, or what could?” Richie asks, crossing his arms against his chest and folding in on himself.

“ _ Uris _ , my name is  _ Stanley Uris _ , Rich,” Stan in lieu of an answer, running a hand threw his messy hair. “Fuck me!”

“I mean, if you want me too,” Richie is quick to reply, arms dropping to his side because the fear that started to fill him left at learning Stan’s name. It was a familiar name to him, one he hasn’t truly forgotten, a name that stuck with him in the back of his mind. A name he remembers writing many letters too until the day they stopped. There is a part of Richie who remembers reading the letters a six year old Stan would write him, and the way they were started to sound like he wasn’t even getting Richie’s, but he was six back then, so he didn’t understand what it meant.

“Don’t you need to get ready for your show tonight?” Stan is quick to ask, but not dismissing the offer. So, he’s feeling a little reckless but it’s not harmful, no one would be getting hurt by him doing this, so it was fine – that is what he tells himself.

It’s what he tells himself when Richie says he doesn’t have to go in for a few more hours, when walks himself back to the bed. He tells himself it’s fine, that he’s fine, that it will all be fine as loses himself in the sensation of the feeling of Richie’s hands on him, and the feel of Richie under his feelings.

Stan had made a trip in to Beverly's place, where she had made him lunch and they talked for a bit. She doesn’t fuss over him, but he knows she was worried about him. All his friends were, and yeah, maybe he should talk to them – his therapist tells him that it could help, but he just doesn’t want too and thinks he has a grip on his emotions right now. He believes that if he got bad enough again, he’d go to them this time.

Patty walked into her home, greeted her wife with a kiss before making a comment about how she speculates that Stan got laid, and he took that as his que to leave while evading the questions that were asked.

When he got home, he had an hour-long shower and got himself dressed in some clean clothes before chucking his dirty clothes in the washing machine, and doing a load and putting his phone on charge. Eddie came home a few hours later, laughing as he walked in the door after having said goodbye to someone, who Stan can only assume is the guy that Eddie has been seeing for the past couple of months.

Eddie spots Stan on the couch, flicking through the random channels because nothing else really seemed to be on. He takes the spot next to Stan, eyes wondering up and down Stan before he opened up his mouth to speak, “What happened last night?”

“Went down to a bar, got drunk, slept with someone,” Stan replies, giving a small shrug of his shoulders – his words sounding as if practiced over and over as if not to stumble over them and he guesses he might have been doing that mentally.

“Do you know how  _ dangerous _ that can be? Oh my god Stan, you’re lucky the one night stand wasn’t someone creepy, or maybe they are and we don’t know yet. You di-,”

“Eddie,” Voice firm as he cuts off his friend’s rambles, “First of all, don’t think it counts as a one-night stand if we exchanged numbers. Two, we didn’t give names until this morning, it’s fine – this might turn out good.”

There is a hint of a smile gracing Stan’s lips, that makes Eddie a little bit satisfied so he tells Stan he ordered a pizza for them to eat before they meet the girls before going to the show.

Two months later, and they have gone on a few dates and he’s woken up a lot of times in Richie’s bed, not that he really cared, it was nice and he liked it. The sun was pouring in through the curtains that were opened, he saw Richie standing there with a cup of coffee in his hands looking out the window.

Over the past two months, Stan has learnt that Richie moved to Atlanta three years ago because he wanted to do something different, to not live in their old home town, or in LA or New York. That Eddie’s new boyfriend, was a friend of Richie’s - Mike. Learnt that he does really like Richie.

The sight was lovely to Stan, he could just lay there and watch – taking mental notes of the small things of Richie. He knew he was falling, and falling fast for Richie and it kind of scares him but at the same time, he’s welcoming it. It’s new thing, and he loves it. They’ve never really put a label on what they are, but he doesn’t care because he likes the time he’s been spending with Richie.

Richie, upon looking over at Stan notices he’s awake goes over to the other, pressing a soft kiss to Stan’s forehead. He places his cup on his bedside table before taking Stan’s hand into his own. With his other hand, Richie traces the bird that was inked into the skin of Stan’s wrist. It’s the first time Richie has taken the time to trace the image and the touch feels like it’s a question this time.

Suddenly feeling extremely insecure, Stan pulls his arm right out of Richie’s hold and reach, holding it to himself. Eyes looking away from Richie as he sits himself up, pulling his legs into himself. It’s been a few years, but it still makes him insecure, even with the bird covering it. Because  _ he _ knows what’s under there – Eddie, Patty and Bev, they know what’s hidden beneath the bird on his wrist. It’s not an easy subject,  and one he doesn’t want to scare Richie with the story behind it.

Tentatively, Richie reaches a hand to place onto Stan’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin in a soothing manner. Moving himself so he is as close as he can to Stan, without crowding him too much. “I’m sorry, I won’t do that again,” Richie says in a soft voice, a voice full of promise and Stan is glad he doesn't ask  _ why _ he had that reaction, that he presses a kiss to Richie’s cheek.

Both of them showered and got ready for the day’s work. It was all so domestic, and he felt like it was working out between them and that they’d last long – and maybe forever, but not even two weeks later, Stan is telling him he thinks they’re better off as friends. It had hurt a bit going home that morning, but he pushed himself past it. Making himself go through the motions, almost as if on auto pilot, he’s been feeling like that for a while.

The breakup had come without any warning, that even he didn’t know it was coming, maybe he should have seen it. He thinks that Patty saw it coming, because she wasn’t surprised when he told her about it. Thinking about it, he thinks that maybe they should have just stayed friends after that first night, and he thinks that maybe he wasn’t as  _ fine _ as he claimed to be. That just because he wasn’t as  _ bad _ as before that it didn’t mean he was bad then too, because he had it worse before. And that starting a relationship in a mindset like that, could have ended more badly then it did. He thinks he found the reason why he broke it off.

Months go by, and it proves difficult because every time he thinks about Richie, his mind reminds him of the way he felt with Richie’s hands on his body, of how good it made him feel. How, he started to crave the touch, or even just to be near Richie. Putting the distance was hard, because he missed it but at least they were still talking with each other and still friends. Though, there are times where he thinks Richie has been looking at him  _ just _ that bit longer, or his touch lingers just a second more then it should ( and maybe he’s guilty of it too ).

Right now, Stan was in his parents' home that his mother was selling so she could go into a nursing home for her last few years, she had told him after his father’s funeral that if he wanted too, he could go through everything and keep whatever he wanted, and that she would sell the rest. That was last week, and Stan had some time to do it now and his mother called him asked if he had gathered anything, or that if he wanted too, he needed it done by the next week. So, he went in his car after the call this morning.

Arriving, there were a few boxes already packed, probably the things his mother wanted to keep and he walks through the house, finding small items he left at his old home, like a few bird statues that were in his childhood room. He wanted to keep the vase that his mother loved, and the clock his father brought when they first moved here because their old one broken in the move. He smiles as memories fill his head, like a little movie playing in his mind.

There shouldn’t be anything in his parents' room that he would want, but he humours himself and walks into the place. Everything was neat, except for a small box that seemed to be producing from under the bed. Curious, Stan kneels down and pulls out the box, sitting on the bed before opening up the box.

Now, if Stan was a curious kid or teenager who rebelled against his parents, maybe he would have found them back then, but that wasn’t the kind of kid Stan was. Stan was the kind to follow rules, to dress nice and proper – to try and be seen and perceived as good as the adults, so he never snooped in his parents' room. So that is why, in his late thirties that Stan is finding all these letters addressed to him in a messy kid’s handwriting alongside an adult’s neat handwriting.

Though, his name was clear through the scribble the address itself seemed to be written as if by an adult, and Stan thinks that would have been Maggie, making sure that Richie’s letters didn’t get lost in the mail. He packs the box into his car, before heading home and parking his car in the garage. He places the vase in the middle of the living room on the small coffee table, everything else goes into his room. He hangs the clock and arranges the small statues before he goes and sits down to read the letters that are long due for a reading.

He sat there, reading and re-reading all the letters in order. It was a bitter-sweet moment. The sweet coming from the fact that Richie did send him letters, bitter in the way that he never got them and he thinks, now that he’s older and knows more, he knows  _ why _ he never received any of the letters.

Neatly placing all the letters back in the box, Stan hears voices lifting from the living room and walks down the hallway. Finding himself looking at the back of Eddie, and that looked like it was Richie sitting on the couch. They were talking and didn’t seem to hear his approach, and the words spoken made Stan stop where he was standing.

“Did you ever tell him?” Eddie asks, giving a tilt of his head, “Did you guys ever say ‘ _ I love you’ _ ?”

“No,” Richie replies, burying his head into his hands, “What do I do? I love him, I know I do.”

“My first thing to do, would be to talk to him. That is really all I know to do,” Eddie tells him, giving him a small pat on the shoulder. Stan walked back to his room.

It was late at night, and Stan was drunk at the bar not too far from his own home. Patty and Bev left a few hours ago, but not without asking if he was okay. He told him he was, and knows he was lying but it was better than letting them know how much he was hurting inside. It was coming from everywhere, from words his father echoed back at him in his mind, his mother confirming his theory, to the ghost memory of feeling Richie against him, or near him leaving him feeling empty in that space. He got so caught up with Richie that he didn’t know that it would hurt this badly not having him. It hurt just as bad as it did as when he as a kid and thought Richie wasn’t keeping his promise.

He was made to think that Richie didn’t send any letters because his father removed them from the mail every time, lying every time Stan excitedly asked if there was any mail for him because he put the letter in a box under his bed until the day Stan’s enthusiasm stopped and he eventually didn’t ask anymore.

The memory of a few months before his parents moved to Atlanta played in his mind, it was him and Richie sharing a kiss. It wasn’t big, or neat – or anything like you’d see in the movies. It was the kind six-year olds do because they saw others doing it and wanted to try it for themselves. The kind that had them laughing because it was ‘weird’. Not knowing it back then, he didn’t know it was also the kind that’d get his family moved into another state because his father had seen it and didn’t like it.

It was late at night when he picks up his phone, finding the number that he wants, he presses the call button as he walks himself outside of the bar, using the wall to keep himself up right. He can’t remember if the other line was picked up, or if it went to voicemail, but he does remember crying and saying, “I miss you. I’m sorry, I just miss you and the way you make me feel.” That is all he remembers, he doesn’t remember getting home, or getting changed.

So, when he wakes up with a pounding headache, he lets out a small groan, but he takes note of the small cup of water and the pills next to it. Someone must have taken him home, and got that ready for him. He was thankful for it and reaches for it, sitting himself up in his bed to take the painkillers and down the water.

Sighing, he puts his head into his hands and curls in on himself, he’ll just stay in bed today. It was a Saturday, he has nothing better to do – or, really, he couldn’t be bothered  _ doing _ anything really. He could hear footsteps that usually would be quiet in the house, but are loud to his ears from the hall. He flops himself onto his bed, pulling a pillow of his head.

“Eddie you’re too loud!” Stan calls out, but it comes out slightly muffled. But, that is when something started to  _ click _ in his mind. Eddie was out for the weekend with Mike, and this causes Stan to remove the pillow from his head in time to see Richie standing there in his doorway, a sadden look upon his features.

“Not Eddie,” Richie says, taking the steps before sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes look Stan up and down, that worried look in his eyes, it reminds him of the looks his friends would give him when they thought he was going down again. The look they had  _ after _ he did something.

Subconsciously, Stan rubs his thumb against his tattoo as he sits himself up, “Did Bev, or Patty send you?”

Richie shakes his head, “You called me last night. Stan... are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Stan quips back, and his head hurts.

“You said some scary shit last night as I took you home. You scared me, I called up Bev, she asked for me to stay. She and Patty are coming over later,” Richie tells Stan, and he wonders what he said for Richie to call up his friends, or – no, he thinks he knows, and he tries to make himself as small as he can, not looking at Richie. “Hey, I’m here for you Stan. You know that right.”

“I’m fine Richie,” Stan says, and even he can hear how much of a lie that is. A fact that isn’t helped by the fact that he won’t even look at Richie now.

“I don’t think you are, no one who is  _ fine _ says those things Stan. You don’t have to talk to me about it, but, at least talk to the girls. I’ll stay until then,” Richie says, before standing up, “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, not hungry,” Stan replies, settling himself back under the covers and pulling them up close to himself. His fingers ghosting over the tattoo on his arm and he can feel the scar under there. He doesn’t know why, but he started to cry.

It just didn’t stop until there were no tears left. A few minutes later, there was a knock on his door and he turned his head to see Patty and Bev, with Richie standing awkwardly behind them. Patty had a bag of food in her hand, while Bev held a few books in hers.

Getting better is a slow process, but Stan is getting there with the help of his friends, and with his therapist and new medication. Right  now he was sitting with Richie on his couch, they were watching some random videos they were finding on YouTube for a laugh because Richie wanted a break from writing for his new show and Stan didn’t have anything else to do that evening, so he went over with some Chinese food. The video finished, and they were looking for a new one when Richie spoke up looking at the laptop in front of him.

“I was bullied a lot in high school,” Stan doesn’t know why Richie is saying this now, none of them brought up the topic. None of them asked but Stan just listens as Richie continues. “Don’t know if you would remember him, but Henry Bowers, he was still bullying kids by the time he reached high school. He liked to attack me, and my other friend back then, his name was Ben. I haven’t seen him in a while, Ben that is. Anyway, one day, Henry, he slammed me into a glass window –  _ while  _ on school grounds. He was calling me names, many... many names. Ones I can’t hear without flinching, ones that made it so much harder for me to come out.

“That window broke, sending a piece of glass into my back. It sent my mother panicking and cussing out the school for letting it even get that far. We moved two months later because the school only suspended him, and no one was going to pay for the damages. My mother was not having it, I swear, she nearly fucking would have killed Henry and his father herself if my dad didn’t hold her back. And he barely even did that, just enough so she wouldn’t.

“Thinking about it now, my mother and her small size being held back by my father – that was a funny image to have. But back then it wasn’t funny, nothing about that was funny. I could barely use my arm because it would tug on the wound. That is what the scar on my back is from,” Richie says, now looking at Stan.

Stan didn’t know what to say to that, how to follow it up – so instead he just reaches a hand over to Richie’s shoulder and giving it a small squeeze. Resting his chin on top of Richie’s shoulder as he moves himself closer to the other, it is silent for a while and neither of them pick out a video from the screen in front of them. After a while, Stan says something, “I tried to kill myself,” He can feel Richie freeze under his chin, how his body  stiffens at the admission that fell from Stan’s mouth.

“I didn’t tell my story so that you had too, I just... wanted you to know Staniel,” Richie tries to lighten the mood from the heavy path it has seemed to have gone down. Richie is about to speak again when he lifts his arm up in front of Richie, pulling the sleeve back so the tattoo was on display for him to see.

“I know, I want you to know too,” Stan replies, moving himself so he was just a little bit apart from Richie. His head was a bit low as he looks at the tattoo that was inked into his skin before looking back up at Richie who was now fully looking at him now. “Twice, I’ve tried twice in my life. Once when I was in high school with a bunch of pills, my mother found me. Then, I tried a different way eight years ago.”

Reaching out for Richie’s hand, he grabs it and guides Richie’s fingers to where he knows the scar is under the tattoo. There was a small rise under it, and he looks at Richie and his reaction. He can see the pain on his face, the sadness there.

“I didn’t want to live, I just... I was so empty. I knew I was loved, I knew Eddie, Bev and Patty, that they loved me. I knew all this, but that didn’t matter in my head because I was just so empty. I felt wrong for not wanting to continue despite knowing this. I shut myself off to them, I thought I’d make it easier for them. It didn’t and I still tried,” Stan says, crossing his arms against his chest, no longer wanting that on display anymore. “I go to a therapist, though – there was a point in time when I stopped for a while, I stopped a few months before you picked me up at the bar. I also stopped taking my medication.

“I was on a low when you meet me, but I thought I was getting better so that low didn’t matter. Hey,” Stan reaches a hand out to take one of Richie’s into his own after seeing tears fill Richie’s eyes. Stan thinks he can see guilt filing those eyes, and he gives the hand he is holding a small squeeze, “If you think of blaming yourself for anything... like us breaking  up, _ don’t _ . I broke it off, not you. I was spiralling downward. There were many nights that Eddie refused to stay at Mike’s overnight for a good while.

“My mental state, it’s getting better. I’m back on my medication,” Stan reassures Richie. “I’m working on it. Thanks for still being my friend through this time, it means a lot. I know it must have been hard.”

“You’re still my friend, no matter what, I wanted to keep that this time,” Richie says, reaching over to close the laptop.

“Are you talking about the letters?”

“Yeah. You stopped sending them, so, I thought that was the end of our friendship,” Richie answers, before standing up and walking into his room, leaving Stan wondering what he was doing, before Richie came out with a small wooden chest, one Stan has seen always sitting on top of Richie’s drawers. “I know we were like, six years old, but you were like my only friend back then, so  it hurt.”

Richie opened up the chest, placing it on the coffee table and pulling out a small book about architecture, placing it next to the chest before he is pulling out small stack of envelopes out, holding them out to Stan. 

Stan gently moves his hand across the paper that’s probably just over thirty years old by now as he holds it in his hands. His own childlike handwriting spelling out Richie’s name and address on it, with the hastily teared edges where it had been opened. “I’m sorry, I... I thought you weren’t sending any, so I stopped. I found out that my father went through the mail, grabbing the letter you wrote and stashed it away. I found them a few months ago. My father had seen us, uh, kiss. You remember that?”

There was a soft nod of Richie’s head, and a hint of a smile ghosting his lips and Stan likes that, “Yeah. Would you count that as our first kiss?” Richie muses, a light laugh falling from his lips from the happy memory.

“I count it as my  _ first _ kiss, so yes, I would,” Stan answers, a smile of his own on his lips as he places the letters back into the chest carefully. “We didn’t know what we were doing, at all – but we sure as hell thought it was funny.”

He was laying on a blanket outside, his hands resting behind his neck – the stars were bright in the night sky as he looked up at the sky. A few birds would take flight and move in the air but he didn’t bring his bird watching gear, so he just takes a few notes mentally as he tells the information to Richie who was laying right next to him in a similar position to Stan. Except, unknown to Stan, Richie’s eyes were on Stan.

When Stan turns his head to look at Richie, Richie’s head is quick to look back up at the night sky. Stan takes in the sight of Richie looking up at the night sky, a smile spreading across his lips. He shifts so that he is laying on his side, using his hand as a pillow as he just watches Richie. It’s surprisingly calming, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, of the light wind blowing past – moving Richie’s hair with it. He loves Richie, he knows he does.

“Huh?” Richie muses, head turning to look at Stan whose face scrunches up in confusion as he looks into Richie’s eyes in the light of the moon. “Did you say something?”

“No,” Stan replies, eyes watching as Richie moves himself so he is mimicking the position that Stan was in. He can’t help but smile, and it gets wider when he  sees it returned by the man in front of him.

“Oh, I thought you did,” Richie says, fixing his glasses on his face but it didn’t work – not really because they were still slightly uneven on his face. Stan moves himself closer, using a finger to push Richie’s glasses into place, only it didn’t really work. His finger drifts down Richie’s cheek, the feel of the stubble that was growing there because Richie hasn’t bothered to shave under his finger is rough, but not unwelcome.

A silence grows between them, Stan moves himself so he is just a few inches from Richie, he can hear Richie’s breathing, and in the little light he can see the nervousness that was running through the other’s eyes. “I love you, and I know you love me too,” Stan’s voice is soft as he lets the words fall out of his mouth, then he is pressing his lips to Richie’s to show him how he means it.

Stan gives Richie a few seconds to react, and is glad he did because Richie is kissing him back as he pulls  Stan’s body flush against his. “I do love you,” Richie’s voice quiet in the night air, as if the words are only for Stan.

They were at Stan’s  home, they  _ were _ going to watch a movie when they got home but they seemed to have other ideas. Richie had just sat on the couch; he was getting ready to find a movie when Stan moved onto his lap, his legs on either side of Richie’s legs. Stan’s hands cupping Richie’s face before he is going in to press a kiss to Richie’s lips. It didn’t take long for the kiss to get deep, Richie fisting his hands into the fabric of Stan’s shirt as Stan’s fingers find a place in Richie’s hair.

Richie’s lips started to move down Stan’s jaw, towards his neck, managing to get a moan out of Stan in the process. Moving a hand out of Richie’s hair, moving it down his chest towards the belt.

“Oh my god! Use your fucking room!” Eddie’s voice comes in, causing the pair to look where the source was. Eddie was covering his eyes with his hands.

“I thought you were at Mike’s,” Stan replies, not moving off of Richie he hasn’t had sex in  _ months _ , he’s feeling a bit deprived of it.

“That doesn’t make having sex on our shared couch _ okay _ Stan! That is just filthy. Are you really that horny? Oh my god, don’t answer that, I know you are. I forgot something, but you know what – I can get it tomorrow. Burn that couch before I get home,” Eddie says, turning on his heels and walking out the door.

Waiting until he was sure that Eddie was gone, Stan climbs off of Richie before holding his hand out to the other in an offering. He led Richie down to his bedroom, where he closes his door behind him before he pulls Richie close to him so that they could kiss again.  So they can finish what they started on the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> i tired, this was posted at 3am in the morning, hope it's okay


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